


Fading

by K (Thiswasmydesign)



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Autistic Near, Memory, Mourning, Secret Shinigami Exchange 2018, whisky and chocolate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 02:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thiswasmydesign/pseuds/K
Summary: A bittersweet piece for the secret Shinigami gift exchange; Near mourns Mello after his death, and reflects on better times.





	Fading

Glancing to the photo pinned neatly above his computer, lines all parallel to the edges of the board, perfectly spaced one inch from the surrounding objects, Near paused in his work.

Mello would have hated it. His notice board, his room, his perfectly crafted house of cards. He would have made a mess with the toys across the floor, scattered them and pretended that it was because he preferred the chaos, the mess. He wouldn’t be willing to admit that he did so only to get Near’s attention, too proud to pretend that he still needed the friendship they once had, before Near surpassed his test scores and became the number one candidate for the accursed role Near now fulfilled, every day of his life without relent.

Those days were long passed now. It was hard to believe that Mello was gone. He would not be celebrating another year this birthday, the first since his name was written in a notebook and he had breathed his last.

Before his death, Mello had come back to him. He had visited, just once. Perhaps he had known what his fate would be. Near wished that he had predicted it, that he had been able to prevent it. Sometimes to win the game, you had to be willing to allow a few pieces to fall to the enemy but…

Near took a single, deep breath. He tried to clear his mind, but the memories remained, distracting him from the case.

He closed the laptop, sulking across to a cabinet concealed behind a clean white wall and triggering the hidden mechanism to open it and take what was inside.

The wrapper of the chocolate bar never felt right to him, the sensation of the plastic almost greasy to the touch. When Mello had eaten these they were wrapped in foil and paper, but the company had changed to cheaper methods, and this was what he was left with. A pale imitation of Mello’s favourite, a fading memory.

Mello would have been proud of the measure of vodka he poured for himself. Approaching a year in this job had hardened any remaining soft edges from Near, any remaining childhood innocence long dismissed. The bite of the alcohol was not unfamiliar any more. Mello would still have challenged him, dared him to a drinking contest perhaps. He had always liked to win.

Sitting in his beanbag – he didn’t much like chairs, couldn’t ever get comfortable, but the way the beanbag shaped around him was more tolerable despite the way he could feel every single grain within separately against his skin – he snapped off a piece of the chocolate with his teeth. Like Mello would have done. Was it strange, to copy his habits, to remember him in this way, through sounds and sensations? Not that such things mattered to Near. He could do what he wanted, here in his ivory tower, in the headquarters of his detective organisation.

The picture looked down on him, a childhood photograph. Mello was young in that photo, but old enough that they had already lost their friendship. Near could remember when it was taken, not long after his own tenth birthday. Not long after it had become apparent that Mello was no longer first in line. He wasn’t smiling in that photo, he already looked like the pressure he was putting on himself was taking its toll. But it was the only photo that Near had. He had destroyed all the rest, thanks to Kira.

He remembered them all, clearly. Photographs taken over the years. They were orphans, and even though Wammy had supported academic endeavours cameras were restricted to special occasions – except for Linda. Linda had been an artist, and part of her art had been photography. Mello, Matt and Near had been some of her favourite subjects to photograph, back before their friendship had shattered. There had once been many photos, dozens if not hundreds, of Mello in Near’s neatly organised collection. Now there was just one.

He wished he had kept more, now that he knew how things had ended. With Kira bested, he could have had the photos for the memories they held. A tangible frame of reference. He would have liked to have them, to turn the pages of his picture books, his eidetic memory no substitute for the tactile sensation and the images to remind him that these things were real, and not just a dream.

He recalled his favourite photos, the ones that he had most hated to destroy. Long after he and Mello had fallen out, but before they had parted ways, birthdays had always been a special time when he would be… tolerated, if reluctantly. He remembered that final birthday, the last time that Mello had seemed happy in his company.

Mello had been out of bed at nine – early, for the night owl usually awake from noon till four in the morning. He had tried to be mature, because he spent most of his time pretending to be an adult by that point (even though he was only twelve) and because he didn’t want to be disappointed if no one had bought him any presents. He knew too well that they were orphans, and even orphans of Wammy’s house didn’t get presents.

But some of the others had grouped together to make a special breakfast for him, and a cake for later. Mello had been overjoyed, though he wouldn’t show it. Linda had done a painting of him in watercolours, lounging in his favourite outfit in his favourite chair and eating chocolate, and Mello had been astonished by the gift. The time it must have taken, the beauty of it – and when had she managed to get a reference photo without him knowing?

Matt had put down his games console not long after that – a gift in itself, since Mello was not used to having his friend’s undivided attention, but Matt had done one better. He had taken Mello out of the house and to one of their favourite hiding places, and given him the bottles of vodka that a twelve-year-old Mello really should not have been drinking, but everyone knew he had enjoyed for over a year, in small quantities, so as not to damage his mind. He had even wrapped them with ribbon, which Near only knew because Mello had tied it around Matt’s head so the other boy went around with twin bows in his hair for the rest of the day.

Near had been nervous. He had waited for the right moment to give Mello his gift. Honestly, he had been afraid Mello would turn it down or break it in anger. He left it beside the cake, in the end. He didn’t want to be there when Mello rejected it.

Mello had searched for him that evening. Near had been hiding, making a castle from his Tarot cards. He fully expected Mello to knock it and watch it tumble, out of spite.

Mello had come inside, with Matt in tow. The personalised playing cards Near had bought him were in his hand, but he did not give them back. Each image was drawn by Linda, so it was really a joint gift, and he was quite sure that was why Mello wouldn’t have just torn the cards apart. The suit cards were as Near had instructed the company he had commissioned to create them – Mello, as King, with Linda as Queen and Matt as Jack. Near had allowed himself to be included, but as the joker. At least then when Mello threw out the cards with him on the face, it wouldn’t spoil his game.

But Mello sat beside him, nudging forcefully at his side and demanding that he move over, which Near did to make room. Mello had lounged against his side, not going so far as to put an arm around him to hug, but close enough that Near understood the gesture. It would have been uncomfortable for someone to be so close to him, if it hadn’t been Mello, though he couldn’t help but crinkle his nose at the cologne Mello had started to use.

Matt had sat beside, back to his computer game, when Mello had unpacked the playing cards and started creating a small tower of cards of his own.

That was how Linda had caught them, about half an hour later with her camera. Matt with his bow around his head, Mello and Near both creating card towers and cuddled close, quietly contented.

Near finished the chocolate, sipping at the vodka slowly as the memory faded. As perfect as the images were, each time he recalled it, he felt like it lost something of its brightness. How long before he could not remember at all?

He hadn’t destroyed the playing cards, but they had not been found in Mello’s possessions. He couldn’t think of a reason why Mello would have kept them after he left. He had probably burned them, just in case the portraits were good enough for Kira to be able to write their names.

The photos from that day had been the hardest for Near to destroy. They spoke of friendship that could one day be rekindled. To burn them had felt like burning hope that it would ever be.

Mello looked down on him as he finished the last of the vodka and went back to his workstation, mind not addled enough to make case work pointless. One day that picture would fade too, but at least he had a digital copy of that one. He would never be without it.

He moved the mouse, dismissing that same picture from his screensaver. The world’s greatest detective didn’t have time to mourn. Time to get back to work.


End file.
